


Can't Help Myself

by Renai_chan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alien Impregnation, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Branding, Dark Kingsman Block Party, Dark fic, Humiliation, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Tentacle Monsters, distention, mentions of other kinks, public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renai_chan/pseuds/Renai_chan
Summary: All his life, Eggsy Unwin had fought against the slavery of his kind on their home planet, as his forefathers had done before him, but when the galactic emperor demands tributes for his Pleasure Court, Eggsy finds himself in the exact position he'd been fighting against. And that it heliked it.Soon, he's caught himself the attention of the emperor and earns his favour, and what was once a fate worse than death has become Eggsy's salvation.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Can't Help Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic has been sitting in my Google drive for the last _four_ years, and I decided that 2020, the _suckiest_ year in history, was the best time to post this. Is that a good sign? I don't know.
> 
> It was based off of [this Dark Kingsman Block Party prompt](https://darkkingsmanblockparty.tumblr.com/post/144829725741/prompt-alien-au-non-con-voyeurism-tentacle). I tried to keep as close as possible to the prompt, but added a lot more Harry fawning over Eggsy and Eggsy being super eager to please him because that it just how their dynamic works in my mind.
> 
> I cannot promise a quality fic because towards the end there was just a profound sense of "I just want to get this over with," so I may have half-assed a lot of it. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> I also wanna say thank you, Seventh and L for your cheerleading and help :)

No one dreams of becoming a slave.

Books and pictures and movies romanticize them, make them out to be beautiful, gold-drenched butterflies fluttering happily at their master’s feet, giggling amongst their ilk while they lounge in their luxurious harems or play in the gardens, gorging themselves on luscious fruits and cakes and teas, pampered by servants to keep them beautiful and enviable.

But everyone knew the reality of a life of slavery, the Tathites better than most because for almost two millennia they had been victims of such life to the Scrauls, subject to their greed and cruelty, until the Uprising where Eggsy’s grandfather’s grandfather's grandfather united the Tathites around their world and overthrew their slavers to buy their freedom with blood and tears.

Eggsy had grown up in a world where his kind continued to be scorned and looked down upon on the basis of such history, treated as lesser beings than the Scrauls, afforded fewer advantages in this world, but they were  _ free _ , and he knew that one day, they would be more than that, which was why, like his father, and his grandfather, and his grandfather before him, all the way up to Rayden Unwin who fought in the Uprising, Eggsy stood at the forefront of the fight--in demonstrations and on paper and in courts as necessary rather than in the battlefield--to secure them that future.

When his mother married a Scraul, one Dean Baker, Eggsy was elated. Though intermarriages between their races were not unheard of, they were rare enough to be considered a step towards equality, and so Eggsy celebrated their marriage and used it in his propaganda as a measure of success.

And then he found out exactly why Dean had married his mother.

It wasn’t out of love or any belief that she was more than his race dictated her to be. Instead, it was because he was such an abhorrent example of the species that no female Scraul would touch him, and so he had no choice but to marry  _ beneath him _ .

Eggsy hated him. He hated him with every fibre of his being, and spent every waking day giving Dean hell for it. And if Dean gave him hell back, it was a small price to pay.

But then the Vathars came, and when they demanded a tribute from the inhabitants of Thanzaneth, Dean, eager to prove himself worthy to his kind and get rid of Eggsy in one fell swoop, sent him along with the twenty four other Tathites to leave their world forever.

He’s been here twelve years. 

Twelve years was a mere blink of the eye of the lifespan of his kind, but it was long enough, it seemed, that life on Thanzeneth was but a memory, as was the Eggsy Unwin that lived on it.

He’d fought against his captors at the start--oh,  _ how  _ he fought. How could he not? With fists and feet and teeth and words until he would be immobilized and thrown back in his cage to try again another day. He’d fought long and hard and spectacularly enough to garner whispers in the Emperor’s court that brought challengers to try and bring him to heel. 

One after another, they failed, and he was kept in the solitude of his cage, feeling moderately victorious about it, until one day, he was called before the emperor himself.

He was led there with his hands cuffed tightly behind his back, his ankles strapped so close together it was a chore to walk, his mouth gagged and covered so that he couldn’t make a sound, held between two guards that gripped his arms so tight they put bruises there the moment they touched him.

Until then, three years into his servitude, he had barely left the training hall, save for the service rooms provided to the lords and ladies of the court when they tried to tame him. For the first time, he was being brought into the palace gates, through its magnificent gardens, down the hallways lined with rich brocade tapestries, dark woods, and varied artistic renditions of the images of battle, and through a massive archway that led into a cavernous hall.

Its ceiling vaulted several stories high, bearing more depictions of battle in mural form and chandeliers that were so massive, Eggsy couldn’t even begin to fathom how they were put up there. It was big enough to accommodate the five hundred beings in it from Varatharvis and elsewhere around the galaxy--some Eggsy recognized, but many from planets far beyond what Thanzeneth’s technology could reach--and luxurious enough to suit the wealth of their beings. 

Most importantly, though, was the throne on a raised dais.

It was breathtaking to behold; far larger than Eggsy imagined, opulent with the gold and treasures seized from conquered worlds, including slaves more beautiful and elegant than Eggsy had ever seen, lounging at the emperor’s feet among the lushness of the scattered pillows. 

Seeing them was like staring into the pages of those novels that romanticized their misfortune, and he found himself suddenly understanding the desire for it: they appeared well-fed and well-cared for, content and relaxed--happy even--basking in the admiration of the court before them, which is more benefit than Eggsy could say he’d ever had in his entire life,. Nevertheless, beyond a brief glance and a moment to think about it, they commanded little of Eggsy’s attention because gracing the throne was the emperor himself, in the full splendor of his imperial regalia and, more importantly, the domineering aura of a conquering warlord evident in every inch of his body.

He hadn’t garnered the fear and respect of the galaxy by birthright, after all.

The emperor stared down from the height of his throne at Eggsy, an arm draped gently around the waist of the slave in his lap that was nuzzling against the underside of his jaw. Eggsy couldn’t be sure at this distance, but Eggsy thought he could see amusement playing at his mouth.

His skin prickled beneath the intense gaze, and briefly, he wondered what special abilities the emperor’s race and stature afforded him. Did he have enhanced hearing like the Shivuds? Could he manipulate emotion like the Loltirs?

And then the emperor chuckled.

Conversation came to a sudden and jarring halt, cloaking the room with anticipation for his words.

“Lord Wenthar,” the emperor called out to the room in general. He didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard, but from near the back, a hulking Ingran emerged. 

Eggsy recognized him immediately. His blue-black skin and prominent brow ridges were recognizable enough, but it was the gash that ran from the top of said ridge down to his chin that cemented his identity. True enough, when Eggsy glanced down at Wenthar’s hip, he found the exact sword that he had used to put that scar there.

He moved forward, eyeing Eggsy with simmering anger, until he came up beside him before the emperor. He fell to a knee in a deep bow.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he greeted.

The emperor stood, and immediately, the entire congregation tensed, poised to bow at the slightest indication of the need to do so, but the emperor only said, “Is this the slave that had given you what seems to be your greatest battle scar yet?”

Lord Wenthar gave Eggsy a nasty glare out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing to Eggsy. To the emperor, he answered, “He is, Your Imperial Majesty.” His embarrassment was evident in the tone of his voice, and Eggsy was viciously proud of himself for it.

The emperor’s gaze again slid to Eggsy, amusement now clearly shimmering in it, as he called out once more, “Lord Selnod.” 

The Slave Master, along with Eggsy’s trainer, Obdu, stepped forward. Lord Selnod, like Lord Wenthar, fell to one knee while Obdu fell to both, his head bowed even lower as dictated by his station.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Selnod said in greeting.

“Lord Wenthar is complaining that one of my slaves under your care had permanently disfigured him,” the emperor told him.

Lord Selnod and Obdu’s fear was immediately palpable. They bowed their heads even lower, Obdu’s practically pressed to the floor.

“I have personally seen to it that he had received the appropriate punishment for it, and Lord Wenthar satisfactory compensation and the companionship of one of our best slaves,” Lord Selnod explained. Eggsy had been whipped harshly for his stunt, bedridden for days, his back in shreds, but it had been fucking worth it. He’d almost been disappointed to find his back smooth as the day he was born after he’d received treatment for the whiplashes; he would have proudly borne those scars with the triumphant satisfaction of a job well done.

“I’ve been informed that he’s been in my court for three years now, and yet, he’s as unruly as the day he was taken in,” the emperor observed.

“He’s an activist Tathite, Your Imperial Majesty. As was his father and his grandfather and two more generations before him. He is untrainable,” Lord Selnod explained with haste. “I am recommending his termination to Grand Minister Merlin.”

Immediately, Eggsy’s head snapped to him.

_ Termination _ ?!

“To the Grand Minister, Lord Selnod?” the emperor asked, an eyebrow raised. Lord Selnod’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. “I believe the boy is mine, is he not?”

Lord Selnod immediately pressed his forehead to the ground, as Obdu had. “He is, Your Imperial Majesty,” he agreed.

“In that case, should it not be I who determines the fate of my property?”

“Indeed it is, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Selnod conceded.

“Well then. I am glad we are in agreement,” the emperor remarked. He swept back into his chair while a slave immediately and dutifully rearranged his robes for him. “Bring him closer,” was the order while the emperor accepted a drink from another slave. He beckoned, and a third and fourth slithered into his lap and at his back. And for a very brief moment--nothing more than a flash of a shooting star--Eggsy could see himself in their position, kissing his way up the emperor's chest, pressing his face into his neck, writhing--

He snapped to attention when Obdu stood and took him from the guards that held him, hissing quietly, “Obey or he will have all our heads.” 

And at this point, Eggsy could have struggled--he  _ should _ have because surely the death Lord Selnod had proposed was better than relinquishing his body and his freedom to a being that cared nothing for him beyond what sexual gratification he could derive from Eggsy--but the flash of thought returned to the forefront of his mind, of him in the emperor's lap, at his service and at his mercy, and Eggsy was stunned into compliance. With Obdu, he shuffled forward and climbed the dais where he was sent to his knees at the feet of the emperor.

Up close, the emperor was even more intimidating than Eggsy had initially thought. He was a great degree more handsome, even compared to his own kind that were well known for their beauty and elegance. He was far taller than any Tathite or Scraul, lean, slender, with long, tapered fingers that belied the power they held. Eggsy knew only the basics of what the Vathars were--their elegance and nobleness, their government’s efficiency and effectiveness, their gift for war strategy, their expertise in weaponry of all kinds--and he didn’t doubt for a second that the emperor was the pinnacle of everything a Vathar was.

“I’ve had Tathites before,” the emperor murmured thoughtfully. “None of them had eyes quite like yours.”

Reflexively, Eggsy lowered them, to which the emperor hummed in approval.

“Lovely,” he purred, making heat pool in the pit of Eggsy’s belly and his cheeks burn. To Obdu, he asked, “Has he been marked?” He was clearly referring to the brand they burned into his right shoulder blade in his first week there.

They had immobilized him from head to foot, helpless as they took the white hot crest of the emperor and pressed it to his skin, no ounce of pain relief offered to him from the moment they started until the brand had healed. He had screamed, he had cried, but there was little he could do but bear the pain of it.

The memory was so clearly ingrained in his mind that until now, he still felt like he could feel it burning and throbbing. 

He flinched when Obdu forced his head down to the floor and ripped the neck of his tunic down to show the emperor the brand on his shoulder.

The emperor gave an approving noise and then further commanded, “Show me his chest. Have his nipples been pierced?” Eggsy was suddenly righted, his tunic ripped down to his waist to show that, like all the other slaves with similar appendages, they were. “How does he respond to them?”

“Very well, Your Imperial Majesty,” Obdu answered promptly, and then wrapped his arms around Eggsy from behind to pinch both of his nipples lightly.

The noise Eggsy made was muffled by his gag, but audible nevertheless, and his body jerked in response. The emperor's eyes glittered.

Obdu continued to tease him, pulling the rings as far as they would go, an obscene distance that made Eggsy’s face flame.

“How  _ wonderful _ ,” the emperor remarked, delighted. “Does that feel good, my pretty little slave?” But a response appeared unnecessary because to Obdu, he ordered, “Take out his genitals. Show me how well he likes it.”

Eggsy was shamefully erect beneath the folds of his tunic, and the emperor's pleased chuckle when it was exposed made him turn his face away.

Without prompting, Obdu started to stroke him, root to tip, squeezing as tight as he needed to for Eggsy to struggle to quiet his moans and keep his hips still. Sweat broke out across his skin, his muscles seized stiff in effort not to show how much his body was responding, lest it be misconstrued as actually  _ wanting  _ this, but Obdu had known him for the last three years, knew his body like a musician knew his instrument. He plucked at Eggsy’s strings with ease until the dam broke and Eggsy was singing like a harp. 

Vaguely, he knew the emperor and his entire court was watching him moan like the whore they’d turned him into, but more at the forefront of his mind was Obdu’s hand on him, the whispered commands that had been trained into him against his will. “Louder,” Obdu commanded, and the twist of his wrist had Eggsy crying out. “Spread your knees. Fuck my fist. Harder. Good boy.”

And then a mouth, without warning, wrapped around his cock, and he was  _ gone _ . 

He fucked wildly into both hand and mouth that engulfed him, coming with a shout that echoed in the cavern of the hall even through his gag, and when his cry had subsided, his eyes flew open to find the slave that had been draped at the emperor’s back kneeling before him, her eyes bright and amused, as she swallowed his come and licked her lips, and when she was done, she crawled back over to her master’s feet and curled an arm around his calf.

Eggsy was momentarily stunned. By orgasm, by surprise, by humiliation, it didn’t matter, only that it was enough for Obdu to step back and leave him reeling at the emperor’s feet.

When he looked up, he found the amusement wiped clean off of the emperor’s face and instead a dark desire painted on it.

“Take him to my quarters,” was the simple command.

It was that sentence that changed everything.

He was brought to the emperor’s room on orgasm-weakened legs, still gagged and bound, this time blindfolded, left kneeling on the floor in silence and solitude for the better part of what he estimated was two hours. His ears rang in the silence, his knees and back ached. 

The worst of it, though, was that he should have run--should have  _ tried _ at the very least. But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat, and he waited like a good slave should--silent and still--for every second of those two hours, hoping to hear Obdu’s magic words fall from the emperor’s lips. 

“ _ Good boy _ .”

It wasn’t natural for him to turn his back on his history, his ancestors, the entirety of his being from a single moment with another person--and not even an intimate moment at that--but from the second he’d stood before the emperor, he’d been captivated by his face, his voice, and the sheer magnificence of his presence. He realised that this must be why he’d conquered such a vast empire, why world upon world found themselves submitting to his command, for who could deny a being such as him anything he desired. How could Eggsy?

When the door opened, he jerked hard enough to nearly topple over. There was muffled noise from the room beyond, but quickly enough, the room was plunged back in silence. This time, Eggsy could feel the weight of a gaze on him.

He shifted in his spot, once more, and then again until a soft voice--so far different from the commanding boister it held in the throne room, but still distinct enough to be recognized--murmured, “Be still, beautiful creature.” He did, of course, for reasons he did not want to be as clear to him as they actually were, and earned himself a delighted chuckle. 

There was a flutter of fabric before him and breath on his face, and then hands cupped his jaw and thumbs stroked the exposed skin of his cheeks. 

“You poor thing,” the emperor murmured. A nose brushed against his, and Eggsy was sure the emperor had brushed his lips over his gag. 

He hoped the emperor would remove it soon and repeat the action. 

“Such a spirited creature mishandled by incompetents. ‘Untrainable,’” he scoffed. “Just look at you, how lovely you are.”

Eggsy suddenly felt more like a whore now than he ever did over the last two years because now, here, to him, all he wanted to do was prostrate himself and beg for the emperor's favour with his entire being.

A shudder shook his body at the realization, and goosebumps ran over his skin, but they didn’t fail to keep him from swaying into the emperor's arms.

“Look at you,” the emperor repeated in a reverent whisper, and then he released Eggsy’s gag and captured his mouth in a kiss that Eggsy returned wholeheartedly.

He kissed the emperor like a lover, like an equal, against all his training that told him to submit to the master’s touch, to shrink like a violet, meek and vulnerable. He pushed back, struggled against his bonds to try and grasp the emperor and pull him even closer.

And the emperor let him, delighted, ferocious with desire.

He pulled Eggsy sideways into his lap, holding him tight against his body. The emperor's robes billowed around them like a cloud--surprisingly soft when Eggsy had assumed the richness of it would make it rough. He didn’t release any of Eggsy’s bindings, but that hardly mattered anyway. In fact, he seemed thrilled by Eggsy’s struggle to get even closer if the encouraging sounds he was making were anything to go by. He tipped his head to the side to let Eggsy take better advantage of his perch and grasped his hips tightly to grind up into the bare cloth over his arse.

Eggsy returned every action as best as he could, kissing the emperor with harried fervor and writhing on his lap to gain more from the grinding cock. He fought to throw his arms around the emperor's neck and straddle his lap, but his bindings proved a source of unending frustration.

He wanted to whine, he wanted to beg, he wanted to sob in desperation for the pleasure just out of his reach. He wanted  _ more _ , and the realization of that suddenly brought the fantasy of this crashing down around him.

Suddenly, this wasn’t a lover he was kissing, not the lap of his beloved, but his captor, his oppressor, his  _ slaver _ .

He threw himself backward, scrambling off of the emperor’s lap with all the grace of a scurrying caterpillar. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind reeling. He panted, breathless and on the verge of panic.

“I'm sorry!”

The apology fell from his lips automatically. He didn't know if it was prompted by nurtured propriety, by fear of punishment, or because he truly regretted stopping  _ this _ , but he knew he needed to say it.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, struggling to get his feet under him to kneel and bow as the situation demanded. His breaths came in laboured gasps as he did so, and when he finally succeeded, he pressed his forehead to the floor. “Forgive me,” he implored.

There was silence from the emperor that furthered Eggsy's terror. His shoulders drew up to protect his exposed neck, and his hands curled into fists despite his best intentions. He felt terribly exposed in the face of the emperor's might.

Then fingers skated down his arm. He tensed, expecting pain from them in one way or another, but the emperor only reached down to the bindings on his wrists to flip the clasp and free him.

Eggsy didn't lift his head, despite his confusion. Instead, he pulled his arms down, ignoring the ache from hours of having them bound behind him, and assumed a proper bow.

Or what he thought was proper anyway because the emperor said with surprising gentleness, “That would be an excellent bow for a slave.” Eggsy refrained from asking what he meant, refrained from moving at all. The emperor continued soon enough anyway, explaining, “But for one of mine, it can certainly be better. Straighten your back, head bowed but off the floor.”

Eggsy didn't make a habit of looking a gift (horse) in its mouth, so he did, lifting himself slightly off of his elbows in the process.

“Hands together, fingers extended, elbows close to your body.” Eggsy obeyed each command as it was uttered until the emperor murmured, “Lovely. Now you can apologize properly. Slowly, sincerely. You are an _imperial_ _slave_ , not a commoner. You must act like one.”

Eggsy remembered the slave that kissed him, how lovely her smile was, how elegantly she moved, how gently she spoke. With her in mind, he murmured, “Accept my deepest apologies, my lord emperor.”

“Very pretty,” the emperor murmured back. He reached beneath Eggsy and lifted him up by the chin. Then he removed Eggsy's blindfold.

The brightness of the room blinded him momentarily, but then the brown eyes of the emperor came into view. This close, he could see gold swirling in them like marbled water. They were entrancing.

“There you are,” the emperor murmured, pulling Eggsy back into his lap. He reached down to remove the cuffs around Eggsy's feet and adjusted him with ease until Eggsy was straddling him with his arms wrapped around the emperor’s neck. He trailed his fingers down Eggsy's face from eyebrow to chin and then back up to his lips, just resting there. Eggsy's lips trembled to part and take the digits into his mouth, but he refrained, mostly because the emperor hadn't yet told him to do so.

“Nobody wants to be a slave,” the emperor said, voicing the thoughts that had plagued Eggsy his entire life. “And I am deeply sorry for this.” There was a regret in his eyes and in his voice that appeared true enough. “But I cannot let you go,” he confessed, and Eggsy's heart clenched. 

He knew that was the case, of course, but he’d always held out the tiniest bit of hope. Hope that if he was unruly enough they’d send him back, hope that no matter what happened, one day, somehow, he’d see his mother and sister again. Having that hope dashed by the one person who had the power to make it happen was the final nail in the coffin of Eggsy’s life.

The emperor drew him closer, tucking Eggsy’s face into his neck. He stroked Eggsy’s hair and held him tight, making soothing noises at him even though Eggsy didn’t think anything in his body gave his despair away. And with a soft whisper directly in Eggsy’s ear, the emperor promised, “But give yourself to me, my dear, and I will give you everything you deserve in return.” A kiss was pressed to his hair. “You shall want for nothing.”

…………….

It wasn’t easy. Nothing ever was that simple.

Wanting it was the hardest part because every inch of it went against his nature, his upbringing, his family legacy. Submitting to the emperor's bidding riddled him with guilt, left him feeling like filth even though, at the exact same moment, it filled him with pride to see the pure delight on his master's face. It shamed him to think so, but his brand felt not like a mark of ownership, but a sign of his devotion. So much so that he'd suggested adding to it when one day the emperor had commented on it.

“I adore seeing my crest on you, my darling, and yet, I feel like it isn’t mine at all because it wasn't by my hand that it was put here,” the emperor mused while he had Eggsy languid with bliss beneath him, fucked out and senseless, tangled among the mass of limbs of the other imperial favorites. 

The emperor traced the indent of his crest on Eggsy's shoulder blade and then followed it up with a kiss that had Eggsy mumbling a pleased sound into the chest of Beltir. The other slave stirred to give him a better angle to bite down, and the emperor hummed an approval. 

“What I would give to have been there when they put this on you.” 

When he sank himself into Eggsy’s sodden hole, Eggsy gave a soft whine. He fucked him softly and slowly, unusually mindful when in the past he didn't care about adding to Eggsy's soreness, and so there was no other conclusion to come to except his preoccupation with Eggsy's mark.

“You can do it again,” he offered and received startled looks from the other slaves.

The emperor's thrusts stopped suddenly, so Eggsy craned his neck around only to find a similar startled expression on his face.

Then the emperor flipped him over onto his back and kissed him thoroughly.

And the thing was, despite his fear of subjecting himself to that experience again, he was happy to do it if it pleased the emperor. His smile was a beacon in the night, and Eggsy was a ship lost at sea.

The brand was presented to them on a golden pillow days later, gleaming in the lights of the room. A piece of art in itself to be used for the first time on him and--Eggsy could only hope-- _ only _ him. 

With Eggsy in his lap, the emperor explained to him the additions he was about to make.

“‘HGH’ in Vatharian,” he said, touching the symbols that were unfamiliar to Eggsy. They were surrounded with swirls and flourishes to encircle and complement the emperor’s crest. “‘Harry Gaevreid Hart’.”

“‘Harry,’” Eggsy repeated in wonder, and then peered up at the emperor to confirm that they were sharing the same thought.

“Mm,” the emperor agreed, kissing his temple.

_ Harry _ , Eggsy repeated in his mind, and  _ God  _ if he did not feel elated at bearing his emperor’s name. At being the only imperial favorite to do so.

And then, like time and again, the thought that he was betraying himself and his family came to mind. By accepting this, his emperor’s name, he’d be cementing his servitude to his master for time immemorial. He’d be relinquishing his freedom, his body, his mind, any sliver of chance that he could one day return home.

But he pushed the thought away. There was no one here to judge him by Tathite standards. No one who dare would against the emperor’s favorite.

More importantly,  _ Harry  _ wouldn’t.

“Am I to be quiet?” he asked as the servants heated up the brand in the fireplace. He put on a brave front, carried a casual tone in his voice. He  _ wanted  _ to do this, but as the silver turned black and then red and then blindingly bright white before his eyes, the memory of the excruciating pain of his first mark came back to the forefront of his mind.

He was trembling, he knew. He knew that Harry knew because the emperor chuckled and kissed the tips of his fingers.

“No,” Harry answered, which was almost a relief until he added, “But you will have to be very still, my love. We don’t want the design ruined, do we?” 

They had immobilized him in the past, but now, he was splayed out on the ground, held there by nothing but his own will, and he was  _ terrified _ .

“Hold still, darling,” Harry warned, though he needn’t have had to. Eggsy could feel the heat from a foot away.

He screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, and when the brand seared his skin, pressed there by the emperor himself, he  _ screamed _ .

Afterwards, the pain that was caused by the brand was tempered by the very same hands that put it there. Harry had taken to cleaning and mending and rewrapping Eggsy's skin with his own two hands, making him lounge in the luxury of the emperor’s own bed, being hand fed and pleasured gently, spoiled immensely with words and touches and favours. No one else was allowed to tend to him and soothe his pain but the emperor himself, and he did so with eager reverence, a fact that delighted Eggsy so much that when the pain had faded into nothingness, only the memories of pleasure remained.

The regular utterances of "good boy" were like a drug. It filled him with unparalleled pleasure and the craving for more. It had him eating out of the palm of Harry’s hand--literally if Harry so chose it, and he often did. It made him agree to the slightest of suggestions, obey every order without delay and without objection, questionable though they may have been.

He’d been asked to pleasure himself before the entire court in the throne room. To fuck his fist and voice his wantonness and lick the come up afterwards. They’d ooh’d and ahh’d over him, complimenting the emperor for snatching himself up such a beauty and for his skill at taming the infamous slave from Thanzeneth, and when Harry told them, “Thank you for your kind words, but I’d hardly had to do anything. He’s such a perfect darling,” Eggsy would melt just a little more and crawl his way into Harry’s lap where he was always welcome.

He’d been bound on a plinth in the city square, allowed to be seen and touched by all who wanted to. Noble, soldier, commoner, vagrant, it did not matter. His eyes were left uncovered, letting him see exactly who stood before him, whose fingers pinched his nipples, whose hands cupped his balls and stroked his cock, who was bold enough to touch him  _ inside _ . He'd moaned for them and thanked them as he'd been instructed to do, from sun up til sun down just to hear Harry coddle him and tell him how proud he was of him for serving his people.

He’d taken sounds up his cock and toys up his arse, each more dubious, more massive than the last. Played with all manner of toys, experienced all sorts of activities. He’d been made to come over and over and over again, and he’d been made not to come at all.

Once, he was bound from head to toe in thick black rubber and left immobile and deprived of all senses for what he was told was two days but legitimately felt like a week, save for the occasional soft words of delight Harry uttered into the device that he’d had implanted in Eggsy’s skull, just behind his ear, so that he could whisper commands and praise that only Eggsy could hear. In the confining darkness of the rubber suit, it gave Eggsy comfort and held the panic at bay to have Harry seem so close even when he wasn’t.

Harry made him beg for Lord Wenthar's forgiveness, so he did so on bended knee one day in the Far East Parlor where Harry had summoned Lord Wenthar.

“Please accept my heartfelt apologies, my lord,” Eggsy murmured, his head bowed low and his body in perfect form as he'd been taught. “I did you a grave sin, and I implore your forgiveness.” He held still, awaiting judgement that he was sure was going to be perfectly terrible. But it mattered little because Harry sat across the table from Lord Wenthar, watching with interest, and so Eggsy knew that whatever was in store for him was something he could--and would--take.

The tip of a boot pressed to the bottom of his chin and forced his head up to look into Lord Wenthar's maliciously triumphant face, but before the lord could say anything further, Eggsy shifted slightly so that he could press his lips to Lord Wenthar’s boot.

“Oh,  _ good boy _ ,” he heard Harry murmur in reverent appreciation, and wasn’t that just perfect incentive to continue. Wenthar was appropriately stunned, gaping, because this was the creature not one year passed who had disfigured his face, now kissing his boot, licking a stripe up to his ankle to press kisses up his leg.

Eggsy shuffled closer to settle himself between Wenthar’s knees and look up at him from beneath his lashes. “Please tell me how I can earn back your favor, my lord,” he said with all due sincerity, not for Wenthar’s forgiveness, though, but for Harry’s pleasure.

True enough, when his eyes flickered over to his master’s, they were glimmering with delight from behind his teacup.

A hand snaked into his hair, suddenly jerking his head back, and an involuntary yelp resulted from it which Wenthar smothered with a snarling kiss. Eggsy tried to give back as good as he got, guessing that Wenthar wanted the intensity of it, but the lord only tightened his grip in Eggsy’s hair and bit his lower lip sharply, clear signs for him to back down.

Meek and repentant, then, Eggsy guessed.

He backed down from the assault, instead allowing Wenthar to overwhelm him with a kiss so deep, he could feel Wenthar’s tongue practically caressing his throat. Pity Harry didn’t have the same length of tongue as an Ingran because he often took particular pleasure in eating Eggsy’s arse out and that would have been wonderful. 

Quickly enough, though, Eggsy banished the thought because he had never wanted from Harry and he wasn’t about to start doing so because of  _ Wenthar _ .

Instead, he whimpered a half-hearted complaint and pretended to try to pull away so that Wenthar would growl and pull him up into his lap. From there he could properly writhe against the Ingran, calling to memory his lessons on their race to remember erogenous zones. It had been a while, but he didn’t want to disappoint Harry.

His fingers slid over the ridge of bony skin along his shoulders, following it down his arm, and then from there, up his torso to the outline of his ribs. For that, he earned himself a pleased moan, and when he tried to pull away this time, Wenthar let him.

He pressed his lips to Wenthar’s jaw, exactly where the scar he put there ended, and dragged his tongue up to where it began at his temple. If Wenthar’s grip tightened to the point of pain, Eggsy counted that a win, and so was the small noise of approval Harry gave.

“My master says you can have me in any way that you want,” Eggsy told Wenthar in a loud enough murmur for Harry to hear. He pressed one kiss after another to Wenthar’s scar, both an apology and--because he knew he could get away with it with nothing more than the metaphorical slap on the wrist--an insult to him. “He says I have a very good mouth,” he said, and in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “and an even better arse.”

“Indeed, the emperor has reassured me of such,” Wenthar agreed, stroking Eggsy’s cheek. A dark look filled his eyes--lust, Eggsy could read and gave himself a point for it. Wenthar continued, “He also suggested that you are at your absolute best when you’re fucked into a stupor and drenched in come. When your pretty little arse is gaping and your mouth is dumb and incoherent.”

All of a sudden, the door opened, and Wenthar’s men, like him enormous, battle-hardened veterans of Harry’s wars since he conquered their planet over a century ago, filed into the room. 

Eggsy pulled back to shoot Harry a surprised look, but the emperor maintained his serene smile and the tiny sips at his tea.

Thirteen of them, Eggsy counted when the movement stopped, lined up and standing still, waiting for Wenthar’s command which Eggsy was pretty damn sure involved fucking him into promised incoherency.

Wenthar turned him in his lap, picking him up by the waist as though he weighed nothing, and then leaned in to tell him, “Beg them to fuck you, pretty slave.” His breath warmed Eggsy’s ear as he dragged his gaze over each of the Ingrans. “Every last one of them. Ask them to use you, to punish you, to forgive you for what you did to their leader.” There was triumph in his voice, malice expected from revenge gone well, which would have ordinarily grated on Eggsy, would have made him grab Wenthar’s sword again and carve another scar down the other side of his face.

But Harry was watching. Harry wanted him to do this.

And so he slid to his knees and crawled over to Wenthar’s second-in-command.

…………….

When Harry told him one evening, “In two days will be the tenth year of the day you became mine,” he should have been immediately suspicious. When Harry added, “I have a surprise for you to celebrate it,” he should have been worried. But then Harry had been buried deep, deep in him at the time and had been petting him softly for the better part of their afterglow, so he could barely muster more than a soft, “Mm?”

When Harry said, “You’ll enjoy doing it for me, I’m sure,” he should have been terrified.

And rightly so, it seemed, because Harry’s gift put into question every single glorious second of their last ten years together and all the progress he’d made in accepting his fate.

He woke up that day to Harry’s gentle kisses and his cock down Beltir’s throat, the other slave pinned there by Harry’s hand in his hair, and after he came, he was whisked away by the attendants to the baths for quite a thorough grooming and pampering: a wax, a massage, a colon cleanse that Harry made the attendants draw out because he liked seeing Eggsy squirm.

But it was only in the throne room, at the sight of a massive glass tank that had been brought in and its contents, that the ball finally dropped.

“Tell us what they are, Eggsy,” Harry instructed over the sea of heads crowding around the tank, a sea that decidedly did not include Eggsy who was practically buried in Harry’s robes under the guise of nuzzling his neck. He briefly debated testing the waters of disobeying Harry, something he’d, to this day, had not even attempted to do so out of both fear and respect, and it was because of that fear and respect that he spoke anyway.

“Phalices,” he whispered into Harry’s shoulder, a small compromise he was sure Harry would let him get away with without punishment. Indeed, the emperor did nothing but shoo Eggsy off his lap and onto his feet before the court.

“Go on, my darling,” he told Eggsy, all warm sweetness, like he wasn’t asking Eggsy to describe the greatest indignity his people had suffered. That Eggsy--he was quickly realising--was going to suffer too.

Eggsy continued, his voice sha king, “They’re found on several of the continents of Thanzaneth, but most commonly in Calena Forest, near the capital, as a result of excessive--” Eggsy stole a glance at Harry “--breeding over the course of our history.”

“And why were they bred, Eggsy?” Harry asked. He sounded genuinely curious, as though he didn’t already know the answer when Eggsy was at least 120% sure he did.

“For their eggs and their young. As food. Delicacies among the Scrauls,” he answered dutifully anyway.

“And how does it work, Eggsy?” Harry urged.

“They… the female implants the eggs. In… in a Tathite’s belly.” He clenched his fist to keep from touching his own. “And the males fertilise the eggs and care for them while the female nourishes the… host.”

“Mm,” Harry murmured, and then suggested quickly after, “Why don’t you show us, darling?”

Eggsy’s head snapped back to him, eyes wide and fearful, heart thudding in its cage. And though he  _ knew _ this was coming, he still pleaded, “Harry,  _ please _ ,” so,  _ so  _ quietly that Harry wouldn’t even have heard it had Eggsy not been standing one step away.

Harry pulled him back closer and to his knees so that he could press a kiss onto Eggsy’s forehead. Then tilted Eggsy’s chin up so that Eggsy could see the warning flashing in his eyes, even as he said in the gentlest of tones: “Give yourself to me, Eggsy.” His voice was pitched low, the same tone of voice he used when he had only Eggsy in his bed, lavishing him with all the care and concern one would expect from a lover rather than an emperor to his slave. It was drugging to Eggsy who had been conditioned to react to that tone in exactly one way. “Every inch of you belongs to me. You will not deny me my right to do as I wish with what is mine. Accept this, and know that your reward is having pleased me.” 

And dear God did Eggsy so want to please Harry, even without the promise of tangible reward for himself, even now when the remnants of his former self reared up in the back of his mind in affront for what he was being asked to willingly do.

If the Eggsy of a decade ago were to see him now, doe eyed and soft for his captor--his  _ slaver _ \--he would have spat on him in disgust. That was the Eggsy that was screaming at him from the back of his mind as he turned away from his master toward the sea of people and the tank in the middle of it, where the pit of the tangled limbs of the phalex and her mates awaited him.

‘ _ A disgrace to your people _ ,’ his mind screamed. ‘ _ A shame to your ancestors who fought against this very thing _ .’

The crowd parted for him as he walked closer, shedding his robes as he did. He could feel their eagerness, their desire to witness him taken by the creatures, but Eggsy ignored them as he did the voice in his head. He could only feel the weight of Harry’s gaze on his back, approving and delighted, and that was all that mattered.

Obdu was by the door, ready to open it up for him. It was to him that Eggsy handed his robe.

Inside, the phalices were unaware of the happenings around them, of the gravity of their purpose, instead merely writhing around the environment built for them. Eggsy didn’t know what would happen once he stepped inside and he feared it, but he knew nothing in the world could prevent this from happening--not even himself--so long as Harry wanted it.

So he went.

The startling scent of home hit Eggsy like a lightning bolt. The fragrance of the Kimmon trees permeated the air, reminding him of his father’s home beside Calena Forest where they grew. It was the punch to the gut the voice in his mind hadn’t been quite able to deliver, and Eggsy suddenly felt his stomach drop to his feet.

He whirled back around to the door, intent on begging Harry for anything-- _ anything _ \--else except this, but he only found it sealing itself shut, filling in the seam so that all around Eggsy was nothing but a single panel of glass encircling him.

The court could view him from any and all angles they desired, and from inside, he could see them pressed up against the glass for a front-row seat to his undoing, curious and delighted in equal measures. 

As he turned, he found a break in the crowd, a path directly to Harry lined with nobles who dared not obscure Harry’s line of sight. He had Rirhea in his lap and Beltir at his feet, but his eyes were only for Eggsy, and so with a deep breath, Eggsy found his bearings to turn back to his would-be tormentors.

For a few minutes there was nothing but the squelch of the phalices as they moved against each other. They were soundless, slightless, insentient beings, interacting with the world only through touch and instinct.

Though resigned to his fate, he wasn’t eager to hurry it along, so he moved as far back as he could from their reach, especially as every so often, one of the males would break away to briefly explore their surroundings before returning to the mass in the middle.

He wondered if Harry was disappointed in his reluctance. He wondered if he’d be punished for it. He shot a quick glance in Harry’s direction, but the emperor merely looked curious, and so his worries were allayed for now in favor of a more pressing matter.

The phalices finally seemed to have sensed his presence in their space as the massive female slowly extended her long, thick limbs, feeling the ground he had previously been occupying. Eggsy stepped back further in an effort to delay his fate, but her arms seemed to know where he was and followed him there. 

It wasn’t so big a room that she needed to travel a distance to reach him, and with the tank being circular, there was no corner to hide in. With each inch she slithered forward, he took a step back. And another, and another, until there were no more steps to take as two of the males, much smaller than she was, came up behind him, aware of the commotion and interested in it. Their tentacles reached toward him, searching. The other two were not a long distance away, and the female was now right at his side.

Eggsy cried out when the first tentacle touched him. It was clammy and slick against his skin, smooth and wine red. It brushed his leg to sense where he was, then gently stroked to evaluate him. He could have run, could have avoided them, but what would have been the point of that? Instead, he held perfectly still and allowed them their exploration.

A second arm came up to stroke his waist and a third on his arm. He could feel the males at his feet, sensing as well, but rising no further than his ankles as the female drew itself closer to him, stretching out more of her arms to inspect his chest and neck and shoulders and face.

He wailed again when her arm inspected his cock, a cursory stroke of clinical indifference. She wrapped her arm around his shaft once, tugging experimentally, extracting a protest out of him, not to her, but to Harry on the other side of the glass, watching him.

“No,” he pleaded miserably, knowing full well it would bring about no effect. “Please,” he tried again, but the female only slithered the arm at his calf up up up and between the globes of his ass. 

“No!” he shouted again, this time in earnest fear. He pulled himself out of their grip and stumbled backwards until he was pressed up against the glass, pushing backwards even further, hoping it would give way and let him out. 

She came towards him, her movements sharp and agitated. Her arms flung out with dizzying speed, snapping around his waist and pulling him towards her.

“Stop, please,” he begged to no one, but finding comfort in his own voice.

She, of course, didn’t hear his plea, only brought him closer. More of her arms wrapped themselves around him: one for each limb, then around his neck and his waist. His cock was untouched now; it did not interest her because it wasn’t his cock that was going to serve her needs.

Once more, one of her arms slithered up his leg and between the globes of his arse, and this time, all his struggling got was a tighter grip on him.

“Fuck, no. Stop, please,” he sobbed through the tentacle squeezing at his neck, hindering his breath. He felt her at his hole, stroking, teasing as she sensed her way around. The tip of her tentacle dipped in and out of him slightly, testing his give, and once she was satisfied, she pushed her way in.

Eggsy screamed as he was torn into by the thick limb--bigger than most cocks he’d taken--with naught but the preparation of the plug Harry had left in him the night before. He realized now that it had been a kindness for the agony that Harry was about to inflict on him whereas last night it had only felt like a tease.

He struggled against the arms that held him still, but she was barely fazed. She only pushed more of her arm into his hole, filling him further, stretching him wider, seeking a place to deposit her eggs. Eggsy knew that she wouldn’t know that she had in her arms a Tathite--the race specifically bred to serve as their host--but she found easily enough anyway the pouch in his belly that was there specifically for her to use, evolved into him and his kind from millenia of use by Scrauls for this exact purpose.

When she breached its orifice, Eggsy  _ screamed _ .

An unbearable pain, radiating from his belly to the tips of his toes, tore into him as it was indiscriminately stretched open for the first time in his life. He struggled, of course, determined to get away from the source of the pain, but she held fast and continued to push herself into him, stretching him open as wide as her eggs needed to get through safely, heedless of his sobbing and begging.

“My lord!  _ Please _ !” Eggsy sobbed through the walls of the cage and into the implant in his ear, willing Harry to have mercy on him, but only silence answered him. 

The phalex pulled him down to the ground, putting him on his hands and knees as she stretched him open, heedless of his begging, his cries of pain. He felt like he was being torn in half, burned from the inside out, violated in the worst of ways. The tentacle inside of him pulsed and throbbed, stimulating in none of the ways that were even remotely pleasant. And as the phalex gave one more push into him, he cried out, “Ahh--!” 

Her arm was a constant, heavy presence inside of him, keeping him held open as she settled down. The momentary pause was the calm before the storm. He knew what was to come next--it was inevitable---but when the cervix to his pouch widened a fraction more, he gasped sharply, his body jerking in response. Then a heavy weight settled in his belly, and a choked sob escaped him.

The thought of it--being filled with this parasite’s eggs, being used like a  _ thing _ , an object with which to facilitate the birth of its young--brought more tears to his eyes. He’d grown up hearing about the horrors of being bred by a phalex. He’d spent much of his life fighting against it, among other things. And now, he’d allowed it to happen to him willingly, had locked the cage behind himself and practically asked for it. It was humiliating. It was devastating. And he could do nothing but accept it.

One after another, her eggs filled him. He couldn’t say exactly how many she’d put inside him, but when she had finished, his belly weighed heavily beneath him. It had tripled in size, swollen like an expectant mother, the skin bumpy over the individual eggs like a cobblestone path, and Eggsy cried. Only then did she release him, retreating to regain the energy spent on the activity, but Eggsy knew that she wasn’t yet done with him, and the males had yet to begin.

“Kneel up,” came a voice--Harry’s voice--through the implant, and despite  _ everything _ , Eggsy felt his muscles quiver in delighted response to it, so conditioned was he to associating pleasure with Harry’s voice. With great effort and difficulty, he pushed himself off the ground and onto his knees, sitting back on his heels while he adjusted to the weight that set him off balance. His belly threatened to pull him forward and back onto the ground, so he used both hands to help him lift it up.

He looked down at it, shame-faced and miserable, feeling defiled in the worst of ways. It was a taunt, a punishment for a crime Eggsy hadn’t committed. Another sob escaped him.

“My darling,” came Harry’s voice again, tender and gentle like he always was when he made Eggsy endure the worst of his desires. It was the drug that made Eggsy come crawling back for more, an addiction that Eggsy would do anything to fill. Then Harry commanded, “Make yourself come.”

Another sob was disguised in his gasp.

_ Come _ ? How could he  _ possibly _ in this state? He was wracked with pain and discomfort, emotionally wrecked. He felt disgusting and small, and oh gods, he  _ couldn't _ ! But his hand was already curling around his cock beneath his distended stomach because he couldn't not obey either.

It was barely hard, even after a couple of strokes, not when all he could see when he looked down was evidence of his defilement, not when his senses were filled with the memories of the home he had turned his back to. 

He sobbed as he tried, again and again, to no avail. He conjured up in his mind all his favourite images of Harry, Harry's smile, Harry's words, Harry's cock. Nothing. He looked up at the man himself, watching him from his throne, seeing the absolute delight in his entire being from watching Eggsy struggle with this. Still nothing.

His voice was a wail of frustration and a plea for mercy all at once. "I can't…!"

"You've always done marvellously for me, my love. Go on. Show me how good you are for me," Harry crooned. His voice was warm and soft, like being wrapped in a warm, thick duvet. It held in it promises of rewards, of great and indescribable treasures being lavished on Eggsy, beyond what he could even begin to make the most of, but more importantly, it held in it complete and utter adoration for Eggsy. 

Harry continued, "Imagine how it pleases me. I don’t think I’ve desired a creature as deeply as I do you now. Your submission to  _ this _ , my love, to me. It is unparalleled.” There was no other way to respond to that but to feel himself getting hard in his hand. Harry’s voice was pure pornography to Eggsy, and the words pouring out of him were a shot of dopamine directly into his cock. Gods, but had Harry trained into him so deeply the need to please Harry that it overrode every other thought in his mind.

“That’s it, my love, my perfect,  _ darling  _ boy. Let them help you.” The barest touch against his thigh had him flinching like he was burned. He nearly scrambled away from the curious male phalex, but Harry was still pouring praise after wonderful praise in his head, furthering his arousal as he continued to work his cock to full hardness and beyond.

When it touched his hole, inspecting, Eggsy froze, anticipating and bracing himself for the inevitable intrusion, and when it did, he very carefully exhaled the breath he was holding, shut his eyes and continued to stroke himself.

A second tentacle followed inside of him almost immediately after, and then a third. It was still not as wide as the massive female had been, but when they penetrated the orifice of his, for lack of a better term, womb, it still tore from him a pained cry.

“Does it hurt, darling?” Harry asked, but didn’t need Eggsy’s affirmation to continue, “Accept it like you accept the sting of the whip, the slice of the blade, like you accepted the burn of my name on your shoulder.”

His belly visibly stirred as the tentacles moved inside it, filling him with the phalex’s seed to fertilize the eggs, secreting lubrication for their protection. Eggsy whimpered and shut his eyes to the sight, focusing instead on Harry’s voice in his mind.

When another male came up to him, its tentacles caressing his hands and cock on their way to his arse, he shifted his knees open wider for it. 

“Lovely,” came Harry’s praise, sending a shiver down Eggsy’s spine. It pushed Gods knew how many arms into Eggsy up against the few that were already in there, spreading him even wider. The pain of his cervix being stretched intensified, sending him back down to all fours as the phalices moved inside of him, heedless of his cries.

A third male came up on his right, and Eggsy prayed that it wouldn’t follow the first two. He wasn’t quite sure how much more he could take, though it was more a mental constraint than a physical one because he knew how his body was designed. After a cursory inspection, however, it seemed to have decided to care for the eggs from the outside, secreting its lubrication on Eggsy’s belly instead and caressing it into his skin.

“Continue, darling,” Harry reminded him after a moment. It was then that Eggsy realised he had stopped stroking himself in favour of focusing on the stretch of his hole, on the pain in his abdomen, on the arms caressing him inside and out. He took his cock into his hand, still hard between his spread legs and resumed his task, the lubricant of the phalices providing the perfect slickness with which to jerk himself off.

And then the female and the last male crawled into his periphery.

She wrapped an arm around his neck, jerking his head to face her, and he disappeared to Eggsy’s right, forgotten for now because she pressed a tentacle to Eggsy’s mouth, forcing it open and sinking herself deep, deep, deep inside of him, past his throat and all the way down to his stomach. It wasn’t as big as the arm she used to put her eggs in him, but Eggsy’s eyes still flew open as he choked around it, jerking away to gasp for air, heaving as it stroked over his uvula, but there was no way he could stop her, to alert her to his plight.

“Calm down, Eggsy,” Harry told him. “Accept it. She only wants to feed you, darling, keep you healthy for her eggs. It will only take but a few moments.” Tears leaked out of Eggsy’s eyes, though whether it was from misery or an involuntary effect of the tentacle down his throat, he wasn’t sure. All he could do was let them use him as they wanted and to make himself come as Harry wanted.

In his mind’s eye, he could see how he looked from the outside: arse stuffed beyond full with half a dozen tentacles and a dozen more trying to push their way in, coated in their slime, choking on another, bigger tentacle, and jerking himself off as well while tears streamed down his face. The very picture of debauchery, baseness. He felt filthy and used, obscene, and his only consolation was that Harry was pouring extolments and praise into his ear, like his Gods had descended onto Vatharvis and taken the form of his slave.

“Come for me, my love,” Harry told him, his voice full of wonder and desire and awe. “Do this for me, and I shall be forever yours.” And how was Eggsy to do anything but obey his lord and master?

…………….

Six days it took for the eggs to mature. 

Six days of being fucked daily, repeatedly with hardly a moment’s rest in between by the males who fertilized the eggs, kept them well lubricated, and checked constantly for any problems in their growth, almost excessively really, but then that was to be expected when he was trapped in with four males when one or two would usually suffice. 

Six days of being choked by the female in her unknowingly aggressive manner of feeding him. It kept him full and hydrated, but he could never get used to the bitter taste of her skin sliding over his tongue, of his throat being stretched to accommodate her, of the inevitable tears that were a result of him heaving around the intrusion, of the tentacles that would evacuate his bowels and void his bladder on his behalf to protect the eggs. 

Six days of sleeping on her cold, slick, soft body, a choice he was not given by the arm she kept around his throat, while he was penetrated by the males even in his unconsciousness. 

Six days, he accepted his fate, but he was ready to be done with it all, to be wrapped up again in Harry’s robes and arms, to sleep in his bed and made love to gently and sensually, to kiss him again.

But the seventh day, dear Gods.

The pain started slowly, a low-grade burning sensation that he had grown familiar with over the past six days with tentacles keeping his cervix held open constantly, though this time, there were none.

He knew, when the males had retreated, what was to happen next, and though he was absolutely  _ terrified _ by it, it signalled the end of his ordeal, and so like Harry said, he accepted it.

He lifted himself off of the female onto his hands and knees, which took some of the pressure off as the low-grade heat slowly intensified into a steady flame that licked at the base of his spine and his groin, the whole area just one bundle of pained nerves. He sunk down onto his elbows and buried his face in his arms, whimpering as he struggled to cope with it.

He could feel the eggs moving in his belly, the phalex younglings breaking through their shells as they began the final stage of their gestation.

“Master,” he called out, reaching with his mind like he was searching for a hand to hold on to.

“I’m here, my love,” Harry answered almost immediately, and Eggsy peeked up to see him standing just outside the glass wall with the rest of the court around him, enclosing the tank to watch him give birth to young that weren’t his. Up close, Eggsy could see his eyes nearly flaming with gold that Eggsy knew happened only when he was truly impassioned about something. It was a frequent enough sight in their bedroom, but never enough to make it any less thrilling than how it always made Eggsy feel.

It was with the strength he gleaned from Harry’s glowing eyes that he bore the pain of the first youngling wrenching him open and crawling through his passageway, emerging arms-first to lever the rest of its body out. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely a blip of sensation compared to the absolute stretching his arse had received over the last six days, but the baseness of the creatures crawling out of him, coupled with the pain of his contracting womb helping them along and the copious slickness sliding down his legs, made him feel absolutely disgusting.

They pooled around his arms and legs, squirming under the attentions of their mother while, one after the other, the rest continued to emerge, each one bringing with them a wave of pain of the chemically induced contraction. 

He didn’t count how many they were--couldn’t--but he knew when then last had come because as the female herded the younglings into her arms and away from Eggsy, the males came back suddenly and with great fervor, spearing him with their arms with little preamble before he could even recover from the birthing, fighting to push their way into him for the egg sacs left behind.

“Ahh!” he screamed and struggled to get away from their aggression, to curl into himself so that he could lick at his proverbial wounds. Where before they were gentle and precise in their motions, now they fucked into him with reckless abandon, stretching his arse and his cervix even further than before as four sets of six tentacles tried to dominate each other to claim the remnants of his impregnation.

They pushed him and pulled, dragging him across the ground to hoard for themselves the sacs he still bore. Tentacles were pushed into his throat, a desperate, futile attempt to try to get the sacs through there, and far too many filled his arse. 

Eggsy fought back desperately, struggling against the arms, kicking the beasts, pulling them out of his mouth, his arse, breaking away when he could and scurrying as far away as possible, screaming at them, begging, “Harry!” but they caught him each time, opening him up again and again until he was thoroughly empty inside. Only then did they leave him curled in on himself on the ground, desperately trying to quell his sobs and failing miserably.

There was a second of stillness around Eggsy’s huddled form, the female tending to her babies on one side of the chamber and the males still fighting amongst themselves on the other, before there was a hiss of a door sliding open.

Eggsy stiffened in anticipation of the unwelcome touch of Obdu or whoever else was ordered to put him to rights before sending him back to Harry because there was no way he’d be sent back like this: covered in grime and body fluids, whimpering and snivelling like it was his first night in the Training Hall. But instead of the calloused hands of the working class, a billow of cloth caressed his skin and a pair of soft hands slid under his body and lifted him up.

“Oh, my Eggsy,” came the voice of his master, softened with adoration and genuine happiness and love. Eggsy said nothing and only snuggled into the arms that carried him out of his prison.

……………………………………

The scent of Kimmon trees was what greeted him as he stepped off the ramp. Sure, every Scraul leader was lined up to receive the Vatharvian emperor’s emissary with all pomp and due circumstance, but it was the Kimmon trees lining the path to the palace where he was to stay for the duration of the visit that made him feel welcome, at home.

The food he was served was unfamiliar, never having been on the receiving end of such richness while he lived here, and being far too used to the even richer dishes of Harry’s table, he was disinterested in partaking of any of it. 

“Boiled okor, if you have it,” he said instead. The astonished looks on their faces at one of the highest ranking officials in the galaxy ordering a Tathite slave’s meal would have been appropriately amusing had Eggsy been in a laughing mood. As it was, he only felt a simmering hatred for each of them, and a burning desire to bring forward his retribution.

None of these leaders were responsible for his exile to Vatharvis, but it didn’t change how Eggsy felt towards them and their kind for what they had done to him and his people. Here they sat in their gilded palaces, living like kings and riding on the backs of people who would never see a single benefit of carrying them. They ignored the pleas of the Tathites, derided them, refused them their fair share of their planet’s wealth. 

Well, no more.

He consumed the meal he requested with nary a sound, surreptitiously watching the Scrauls--who took their cues from him and requested boiled okor for themselves, as well--blanch at its taste while better foods sat before them within reaching distance.

When he was done and the plates had been cleared away, he asked, “Have the audiences I requested arrived?” 

“They have, my lord,” confirmed the Prime Minister with all due deference and, Eggsy was pleased to see, a healthy dose of fear. “Shall I have them sent in?” Eggsy nodded once and turned to see a group of elderly Scrauls being ushered in. 

Immediately, they gave him deep bows and in unison, greeted him, “My lord, welcome to Tatheron.”

Eggsy chuckled, leaning back in his chair to revel in their astonishment.

“You’ve no idea, do you?” he asked softly and only received bewildered glances amongst them in return. He continued, “Eighteen years ago, you sat here in the Ministerial Hall as rulers of the inhabitants of Tatheron, both Scraul and Tathite, did you not?” There were hesitant nods. “Enacting laws that benefited your kind and further oppressed the Tathites.” They started to protest but Eggsy held up a hand and continued when they quieted. “Laws that sought to strip them of their legal rights as free citizens of this planet piece by piece until you reduced them no more to the slaves they were hundreds of years ago, and for those that fought back against those laws, you had them shipped off at the first available opportunity as tributes to the Vathars, out of your way and punished with the very thing they fought against and gaining you the favour of the emperor in one fell swoop.” Silence.

“I know you…” said one of them, his eyes widening in recognition. “...Unwin?” Eggsy grinned a sharp, unamused smile, a feral thing that put terror onto their faces and on that of the incumbent officials to whom the name “Unwin” was not unfamiliar.

“I’m not surprised it took you this long, Minister Strokvod,” he answered. “I’ve come a long way from those ratty brown clothes, haven’t I?”

“Mister Unwin--” they tried to protest, but Eggsy was not in the mood to hear their platitudes.

“Lord Wenthar,” was all he needed to murmur before his Ingran guard darted forth from their positions and snatched the old ministers away.

Their piercing screams from the next room were a kind of satisfaction Eggsy had rarely been privy to before, and he regretted that they couldn’t have done it in front of him, only because there was more pressing business to deal with, the last of which Eggsy did not want to delay a single second longer than he had to.

“Send him in,” he commanded the dumbstruck Prime Minister who could only wave at the equally stunned guard by the door. This time, Eggsy’s audience recognised him immediately and staggered back, darting for the closed door behind him. Unconcerned by his reaction, Eggsy stood from his chair and walked toward him with a deadly calm. Lord Wenthar, as Eggsy passed him, held out his sword for Eggsy to take.

“Egg--” was all he could say before Eggsy swung the blade and sliced a slit so fine across Dean’s throat that it took a good five seconds before blood trickled out of it. And then Dean burbled his dying breath and fell forward at Eggsy’s feet.

“Thank you, my lord,” Eggsy said as he handed the sword back to Wenthar and stepped over Dean’s body with nary a second glance because in the next room was his final order of business for today--the one he intended to spend the most of his time in Thanzaneth on.

Three decades spent at Harry’s feet, three decades of submission and pleasure and service without question or hesitation, earning himself and continuously maintaining the title of the Emperor’s Favourite--through no conscious effort on his part to do so, mind, just the eager need to please his love. Three decades had culminated in this day, an allowance given to no less than Harry’s most loyal and obedient servant. There were few that Harry truly gave his trust to, and Eggsy found himself lucky to be counted among them despite his station, and today, more than any other day, demonstrated to the entire empire Harry’s trust and favour in him.

Thanzaneth was a gift for Eggsy, to be governed as he--and  _ only  _ he--saw fit.

For all the years that he had served as the very thing he fought against, he finally found himself achieving the goal he had not thought he would have been able to achieve in his lifetime: to create change in Thanzaneth’s governance, to shape equality for all its inhabitants, to lift his kin up from squalor and servitude to their oppressors. Most importantly, however, was…

“ _ Daisy _ .”


End file.
